


Second Time's the Charm

by malsseong



Category: The Parent Trap (1998)
Genre: F/F, Summer Camp, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 11:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3486365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malsseong/pseuds/malsseong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And you can’t help but wonder if she remembers it the same way you do. If her breath sometimes catches in her chest when she suddenly remembers the feel of your lips against hers. The sound of the others giggling as Annie ran back to her cabin naked, while the two of you were pressed against the rough bark of a tree, holding hands in the shadows. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hallie goes back to summer camp when she's 16, and guess who else is there.<br/>Sort of angsty. Oops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Time's the Charm

You’re the best sister ever.

Yes, you loved Camp Walden, back when you were 11, and it was your first big adventure away from home. And you look back on those memories fondly; how could you possibly not? You have an entire family because of that one summer. You have a mother, and a sister, and a grandfather, and Martin, who is like the best kind of devoted uncle. Not just a dad — who you couldn’t possibly love more, but who never quite seemed to fill that little empty spot in your heart — and Chessy.  
So, yeah, camp was great. Highlight of your childhood, in a way.

But you’re 16 now. And summer camp is for kids.  
And you have real friends now. Friends who you actually want to spend your summers with. Friends who invited you on a camping trip to the mountains. The kind of camping trip that will involve a lot more alcohol, and — fingers crossed — making out than the trips you still take every summer with your family.  
And maybe — just maybe — you’ll finally find the courage to tell Annie the truth. You’ve been building up to it all year, and think that maybe — just maybe — by a campfire, late one night, surrounded by your friends, in the woods, with a little too much cheap vodka running through your veins could be when you finally manage to blurt it out.

But Annie wants to go to camp. And Annie has this way of begging that puffs up your ego, while simultaneously dragging down your sense of self.  
“I need you there; I just don’t feel like my whole self when you’re not with me.”  
And you know it’s a lie, because Annie is one of the strongest people you’ve ever met; you know that she can do anything. And you know that she knows that too.  
But you say yes anyway. Because she’s Annie, and when she begs, your heart breaks just a little, because you could’ve so easily gone your whole life without ever knowing her.

So you say yes. Every time.  
You’re the best sister ever.

And now you’re standing here, in the scorching sun, feeling like a moron — because why didn’t you just say no? — while Annie stands beside you, practically vibrating in her excitement.  
And when you’re given your cabin assignment, you drag your feet as Annie skips, and tell her that she can help make it up to you by carrying your duffel.  
You were joking, really, but Annie just rolls her eyes at you, and pulls the duffel onto her own shoulder. She throws, “I won’t wait if you’re going to walk so slowly,” into the air between you, as she marches off in search of your shared cabin.

You roll your own eyes, and are about to follow after her, when something in your peripheral vision catches your attention.

Her hair is longer, and shinier, and she’s impossibly taller, and her shorts are impossibly shorter. But you recognise her instantly, even when you can only see her profile.

You’re caught up in just looking, until she turns her back to you and starts to walk away, moments away from disappearing into the crowd.

So you shout out to her, and you have no idea what you’re going to say, until it’s already rolling over your tongue. “Yo, tie-dye girl !”

Her head snaps around, and she searches for a moment, confused, until her eyes land on you.  
She spends a moment just taking you in, eyes catching on the first smile that’s graced your face since you left Napa. She looks shocked, and you can’t help but laugh.

Before you know it, her impossibly long legs have carried her across the distance between you, and she’s scooped you up into a hug that pulls your feet off the ground. She spins you both around, your legs flying in a wide circle around you.

All you can do is laugh into her neck, fist your hands into the soft blue fabric covering her shoulder blades, and hope she doesn’t drop you.

She sets you back on your feet, just as you notice that she still smells the same, and you’re a little disappointed by the small amount of space she puts between you as she pulls back, hands gripping your upper arms, so she can look at your face.

You spend a moment just staring at her, embarrassingly lost in the warmth of her eyes. And the way they’re shining with excitement, and this isn’t the first time you’ve seen that look in her eyes.  
And you can’t help but wonder if she remembers it the same way you do. If her breath sometimes catches in her chest when she suddenly remembers the feel of your lips against hers. The sound of the others giggling as Annie ran back to her cabin naked, while the two of you were pressed against the rough bark of a tree, holding hands in the shadows. The way you stared at each other, an undercurrent of excitement thrumming between you, even though you had no idea what you were excited for. The way her head dipped suddenly, and her hair brushed against your chest, as her lips moved against yours sweetly.  
The way she wrapped her fingers more tightly around yours, and tugged you back to your cabin.  
You wonder if she went to sleep that night — and so many nights since — reliving that kiss, fingers pressed to tingling lips, and trying to imagine how amazing the next kiss will be, and when it might happen.

“… last year,” is all you hear when you finally come back to the present.

You can tell by her expression that she knows you weren’t listening, and she knows the exact moment you tuned back into the conversation.

You can feel your cheeks heating up in embarrassment. She chuckles, her voice still gorgeously deep, and having taken on a husky quality that gives you goosebumps.

“I said, you definitely weren’t here last year,” she repeats, smile firmly planted on her face.

“Oh, yeah. No. Camp’s not really my thing; not since Walden. But Annie wanted to come, and, what can I say? I’m a great sister.”

You can see her smile falter just a little.

“So Annie’s here,” she says. Her eyes flick to the sides just slightly, like she wants to look around, but doesn’t really want to take her eyes off you. “So you two are still…” She waves one of her hands around in a vague gesture. “Y’know.”

And suddenly you feel like a complete asshole. Because of course she doesn’t know that you and Annie have been living together for the past 5 years. She doesn’t even know — not truly, not with actual confirmation from you — that you and Annie are twins rather than identical strangers.  
She really doesn’t know much of anything.  
Because you never told her. Because even before the Isolation Cabin — before you started spending all your time with Annie, throwing yourself 100% into learning to be your twin. Even before that, every conversation you had, since finding all your furniture on the roof, was about how much you hated Annie, and plotting revenge.  
And of course you didn’t keep in contact after camp, because you were too caught up in dreams of your family to even think about exchanging phone numbers or addresses.  
Or to think about the fact that that was probably going to be the last time you’d ever see the girl you shared your first kiss with.

“Yeah,” you say, and you try for a smile, but you know it must come out strained. “Our parents are back together, so we’re…” you imitate her hand gesture. “Y’know.”

“Good for you,” she says, and she’s pulling away, hands dropping from your arms.

You want to stop her, to grab her hand and hold it, like you did when you were 11.  
But she’s a stranger now, and you have no right.

So you just watch as she looks around, seemingly searching for an excuse to leave.

“I’d better…” she says, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder in a vague gesture behind her.

“Yeah, me too,” you say, and it comes out a little croaky, because you’re suddenly struggling not to cry.

She heads back the way she came, barely turning around to wave goodbye, before finally disappearing into the crowd.

You’re being ridiculous, and you know it. But your chest feels too tight, and you’re fighting the urge to sniffle.  
_Chin up_ , you tell yourself, and you hear it in Martin’s voice.  
So you take a deep breath, and head off in search of Annie and the cabin that’ll be home for the next 8 weeks.

***

You take 3 wrong turns before you find it, tucked away in a corner between a wooded area and the tennis courts.  
And damn it, if you’re woken up at 6am by the thwack-grunt-thwack of sporty types getting in an early round of tennis, you’re going to scream. Loudly. At various people. In various locations. And you suddenly wish you’d learnt French like your mother wanted you to so you could scream in different languages, too.

You stomp up the steps, and let the screen door bang shut behind you.

Annie looks up from her unpacking, and smiles this huge smile before dropping her eyes down to the bed next to her. You follow her eye line and see that she’s unpacked your things for you, and made your bed.  
She really needn’t have bothered; you’re more of a take-it-out-of-the-bag-when-it’s-needed type person. If it weren’t for Chessy, you still wouldn’t have finished unpacking your bag from Camp Walden.

But Annie is far more organised than you, and it’s a sweet gesture. You smile your thanks, but, try as you might, it doesn’t reach your eyes. And she notices.  
Of course she notices; she knows all your facial expressions, because they’re hers too.

So she pulls you into a hug, and squeezes you just a little too tight. And god, you’re thankful your other cabin mates haven’t arrived yet, because you can’t stop the tears.  
She makes those shushing noises she learnt from your mother, and she rubs your back, and just holds you in a hug until your breathing evens out.

“What happened?” she asks into your ear, before she pulls back to look at your face.

And she looks so caring. So open, and loving, and understanding. And you want to tell her.

But what are you supposed to say?  
How are you supposed to tell her that you just talked to the girl you’re suddenly realising you’ve been in love with for the past 5 years, and that she was so desperate to get away from you that she didn’t even bother to make up an excuse?  
How are you supposed to tell her that when you haven’t even told her that you like girls yet?  
When you couldn’t even tell her that the reason you said no when David Hudson asked you to the movies was because, whenever you looked at him, all you could think was that his sister had the softest-looking lips you’d ever seen?  
When you lied to her — when you were 12, lying awake in bed on a school night — when she asked if you’d ever been kissed, because you didn’t know how to tell her about that night with Nicole?

And damn it, if you’d just stayed in California, and gone camping with your friends, you wouldn’t be dealing with any of this right now. You’d be sitting by a campfire, drinking cheap vodka, and coming out to your sister in a way that didn’t make your chest hurt quite so much.

But you’re the best sister ever, and sometimes that really sucks.

So you smile, weak and watery. And you tell her that the homesickness snuck up on you, and took you by surprise.

She kisses the side of your head, before reaching into her bag and pulling out a pack of Oreos and a jar of peanut butter.

And just for a moment, you think that maybe you’re not the best sister in the world after all.

***

You’re picking the grapes out of your fruit salad — because even growing up on a vineyard couldn’t make you like the things — dropping them onto Annie’s plate, when you see her crossing the mess hall in your direction, tray of food balanced on one hand. The other hand has a thumb hooked in the belt loop of her incredibly tiny shorts, and for a moment, the only thing in the world that exists to you is her oh-so-long tanned legs and the sway of her hips.

But then Annie accidentally bumps you with her elbow as she eats, and you snap out of it. And now you’re panicking a little, because there is an empty seat beside you, Nicole is walking towards, and your heart is beating impossibly fast. Because what if she sits beside you?  
But, far more importantly, what if she doesn’t? What if she walks right past you, pretends she doesn’t even see you?  
And your chest is starting to hurt at the mere thought, and you really can’t handle this right now.  
So you finish the last of your orange juice in one mouthful, clumsily dump the plastic cup back onto your tray, mumble something to Annie about a shower, and — as much as it pains you to describe it as such — flee the room.

You manage to keep yourself from running, but you walk as quickly as you can back to your cabin, and your breathing is rushed as you collapse down on your bed.

You give yourself a few minutes to calm down, then you leave the cabin; you don’t want to be there when Annie gets back from breakfast.

You’re not sure where you’re going. But you want to be alone, so you head away from the sound of voices.

You find yourself on the far side of the lake, sitting on one of the wooden poles that hold up the jetty.  
You can hear splashing coming from the other side of the lake, and the water lapping against the wood below your feet, but you’re looking out towards the woods, back turned to the lake.

You’re picturing Dana Jessop — the way her body moves during gym class, the way she brushes her hair over her shoulder, exposing her long neck. Trying to tell your brain — and your traitorous heart — that she’s who you want. So you can forget about the whole Nicole situation, move on with your life, and not spend the next 8 weeks fluctuating between blind panic and abject misery.

The hand on your calf scares the shit out of you. You manage to avoid screaming, but you stumble backwards and almost go head first into the lake.

Nicole’s smile is mischievous and sly as she rests her arms, folded, on the wood of the jetty, her body still dangling in the water. She laughs a little, as you try to catch your breath and slow your heart rate back down.

Her smile drops completely, and she just looks sad. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“No.” You shake your head, and let out a low laugh, because you’ve just realised, so suddenly, how much you want to have this conversation. How much you want closure. How much you want to tell her that the memory of her lips kept you up at night. And that you’re sorry you got so caught up in your plans that you seemed to forget about her. But that you never did; you kept her in your heart for 5 years.  
You want to tell her everything.

But then her muscles tense, and she’s pulling herself up onto the jetty. And she’s wearing a bikini — which you’re pretty sure was on the banned items list — and her body is more amazing than you ever imagined — and yeah, you spent a bit of time imagining — and beads of water are rolling over her shoulders and between her breasts.  
And you just can’t do it.  
You choke on everything you wanted to say, and stumble backwards a step.

And you can see her face fall the moment she realises that you’re going to run. And she looks so hurt. And surely, you tell yourself, that must be a good sign; that she wants to talk to you that badly.  
But you just can’t do it.

“I’ve just been really busy,” you say as you take another step back. You turn and walk off the jetty at the quickest pace you think you can get away with. “Bad timing, and all that,” you call back to her just as you’re stepping into the woods.

The look of hurt on her face is now mixed with bewilderment, like she can’t quite believe that you’re really doing this.  
And you can’t believe it either.

But you’ve gone into self-preservation mode, and all you can think about is protecting your heart. Protecting it from heartbreak. From falling any deeper.

***

Annie’s sitting on her bed, reading, when you come back to the cabin. It’s too hot in there, the fan is whirring above you, and you know she’s been waiting for you.

“Did you talk to Nicole?” she asks as you sit down on your own bed.

And for one terrifying heartbeat, you think that she must know. That she must have overheard some conversation that gave away the whole thing.  
But then you remember that there have been no conversations for her to have overheard.

When you don’t answer, she carries on. “She thought I was you.”

You just nod.

“She said you needed to talk.” She pauses and sighs. “Is everything alright, Hallie?” Her voice has taken on that concerned, motherly tone that you never managed to replicate. “You know you can tell me anything.”

You can’t look at her. There’s a lump in your throat, and all you can do is nod.  
Because this is it. The perfect moment to tell her the one big secret you’ve ever kept from her — and the tiny little secrets that are caught up in its web.  
The perfect moment, and she has handed it to you on a silver platter.  
And you can’t do it.  
Because what if this does change things? What if she does look at you differently?

So you swallow down the lump, and let out a chuckle that sounds so false it makes you cringe.  
“She’s just mad I didn’t keep in touch after Walden,” you tell her. You can only hope she won’t push you on the subject.

She lets out a loud sigh, and you know that she doesn’t buy it. But she doesn’t push. She just turns the page of her book, and lets you fight back your tears in silence.

***

You’ve managed to avoid Nicole for an entire week.

You’ve managed to avoid having a serious conversation with Annie for an entire week.

An entire week of Annie making sure you eat, and dragging you to activities to try to keep your mind off things. Filling your conversations with inane chatter — which she’s never been very good at — so the silence won’t swallow you.

She’s telling you about one of the girls in the cabin next door falling over something — or into something? You’re really not sure — when you round the corner and stop suddenly.

The girl is pretty and blonde, and her hands are resting on Nicole’s hips in a really familiar way.

And the pain in your chest hits you so hard you’re surprised you don’t stumble backwards. You want to throw up.  
But you know that you have no right to be upset. But you can’t bear to look at the two of them either.

So you flash your most convincing smile at Annie — who is glancing back and forth between you and Nicole, and you can practically see the cogs in her head spinning as she puzzles the whole thing out — put a hand on her back, and push her forwards until she keeps moving.

Nicole has stepped away from the blonde now, watching you, and you have to step out sideways to get around them without risking brushing up against her.

“Hal,” she says, and her tone is pleading. Her fingers wrap around yours; she takes a step towards you as if to follow. But you flick your wrist to dislodge her hand, and you can hear the soft thwack as her arm falls back against her side. “Please,” she whispers, barely loud enough for you to hear.

Without you noticing, Annie has led you back to your cabin, and she slowly pushes you backwards until you release the death-grip you didn’t realise you had on the back of her shirt.

She has one arm around you, and she’s wiping at your face before you even realise you’ve started crying. You’re not sure when that happened; you hope it wasn’t until after you’d walked away from Nicole and the blonde.

She pulls you over to your bed, and rearranges both your limbs until you’re wrapped up together, her hand rubbing circles on your back.

She’s quiet, and a calming presence. You just made an idiot of yourself in public, and she’s still there, still loves you.

So you tell her. You tell her everything.  
You tell her about the kiss under the moonlight. About David Hudson’s sister, and Dana Jessop, and your plan to come out to her over a campfire. You tell her about seeing Nicole on your first day here. You tell her about the conversation that never happened on the jetty. And you tell her a little bit too much about Nicole climbing out of the water in a bikini.

And you tell her about the fear. Because, yeah, you know that your family loves you. And that your dad will love you no matter what.  
But what about your mother and your grandfather? What if 5 years together hasn’t been long enough to form that kind of unconditional love?

She hushes you, and tells you that’s absurd. And you know. You know that she’s right. You know how much your mother and grandfather love you; how much they’ve always loved you, even when you didn’t know they existed.  
But knowing doesn’t always equal _knowing __._

You’re both crying by the time you finally fall asleep.

***

You stay in bed the whole next day.

Annie brings you food from the mess hall. You thank her but you don’t eat.

She reads in silence while you wallow, and cry.

Your other cabin mates come back before dinner to change. Annie glares them down when they stare. They get dressed as quickly as they can, and you never tear your eyes off the patch of floor you’ve been staring at for the past 2 hours.

“Oh,” one of them says, conversationally, as Annie is trying to subtly shoo them out the door. “Nicole asked after you.”

You wait until they’re gone before you start crying.

Annie climbs onto the bed beside you, and wraps you up in her arms.

“You can’t just avoid her for the next 7 weeks,” she says quietly.

You allow yourself to drift back to sleep.

***

You can’t bear the thought of going to breakfast.

So when you leave the cabin, you veer left and head into the woods, around the lake.

You sit on the jetty, your legs pulled up to your chest, your back leant against the pole you were sitting on a week ago.  
And you wait. You know she’ll find you.

The sun is starting to get hot by the time you hear splashing getting closer to you.  
She pulls herself up onto the jetty, and sits with her legs dangling in the water, her back to you so you could just see the side of her face if you turned your head.  
But you don’t. You don’t want to look at her, in case she looks as distractingly good as she did last time.

“Are you gonna run away again?” she eventually asks.

You shake your head. You hear her turn to look at you, and assume she didn’t see your response, so you mumble “no.”

“Well?” she asks, and you finally chance a glance at her. She looks annoyed. Annoyed and gorgeous. You wish you hadn’t looked. “Are you going to tell me why you keep running away?”

You open your mouth to answer, but close it again when you hear a splash behind you. You turn to look, and there are a group of girls in a canoe, far closer than you’re comfortable with.

You stand up quickly, and you see the pain flash across her face as she assumes you’re about to run again.  
It hurts that she has so little faith in you. But really, why should she trust you?

“Can we do this somewhere else?” you ask, and gesture to the girls on the lake.

She lets out a loud sigh, and stands up, follows you as you leave the jetty and head into the woods.

You stop once you’re far enough in that the sun is no longer burning your skin, and you can barely see the blue of the lake between the trees.

“Who’s the blonde girl you were with?” you can’t help but ask as you sit down on a fallen log, focusing intently on watching the way your heels dig into the dirt.

She scoffs as she sits down with one leg on either side of the log, one of her knees brushing against your thigh.  
“She’s no one,” she says. “We only had one kiss. It means nothing.”

You can feel your heart drop into the pit where your stomach used to be.  
They only had one kiss. It means nothing. She’s no one.  
The two of you only had one kiss. It means nothing. You’re no one.

You want to throw up. You want to run. But you said you wouldn’t. And besides, your legs have turned to jello; you doubt you could run if you tried.  
Your leg is suddenly burning where her knee is touching you, and you can’t stand it anymore.  
You place a hand on either side of your hips to help move yourself away from her, but before you can move, her hand is covering one of yours.

“Hey, you’re shaking,” she says softly, alarm colouring her voice.

She shifts even closer, relinquishing your hand in favour of placing her own on your thigh as she wraps her other arm around your shoulders.

“You need to calm down, babe,” she says, and presses a kiss to your temple.

And suddenly you can’t breathe, and the pain in your chest is worse.  
Because you’ve had dreams like this. Dreams that started with her lips on your face, and her hand on your thigh, and ended with moans.  
They certainly didn’t start with you avoiding her for a week, only for her to tell you that you mean nothing to her.

“I’m fine,” you eventually manage to say, as you try to pull away from her, eyes squeezed shut to keep the tears at bay.

“Please,” she says, and she sounds desperate. The hand on your thigh wraps more firmly around your flesh as she holds you in place. “Just let me…” She chokes on her words, and presses her lips to the side of your face again, and again, before she stops, her lips unmoving against your cheek. “I’ve waited 5 years to touch you.”

Your breath catches in your chest. You don’t dare to open your eyes for fear that this is all, somehow, not real.  
Her lips leave your face, and her hand leaves your thigh, and for a moment, you’re relieved that she’s pulling away because it means that you can finally breathe again.

But then her fingers are on your jaw, turning your face towards hers, and her lips are against yours.

And all you can think about is the fact that this is your second kiss. Nicole has kissed you more than once. Which might just mean that you’re not no one.  
The thought is so ridiculous that you can’t help but chuckle against her lips.

She pulls back, stroking her thumb across your lips as they stretch into a smile.  
You finally open your eyes, and she’s looking at you with a combination of joy, confusion, and apprehension.

“I’ve been waiting 5 years for that kiss,” you tell her. She smiles, and leans in for another kiss, but you pull back. Your smile fades, and your gaze drops to the ground. “I was afraid you wouldn’t want me. Terrified of being rejected by the girl I’ve been dreaming of for 5 years. That’s why I ran.”

She presses another kiss to your temple, and takes one of your fidgeting hands in her own.

“You’re not the only one who’s been dreaming about this,” she whispers into your ear.

You finally tear your eyes from the ground to meet her gaze.

She grabs your neck, and pulls your lips against hers again.  
Your third kiss is nothing like your first, or your second. It’s desperate and needy.  
Nicole’s tongue is urgent as it swipes against your own.

The hand that’s been on your back this whole time suddenly reappears under your knee, and Nicole lifts your leg up and between your bodies. You’re too distracted by the feel of her lips on yours to notice what’s going on at first.  
But when she pulls away, the fog in your head clears a little, and you realise that you’re now both straddling the log, facing each other.  
She places a hand under each of your knees, and pulls you forward until your legs are resting over the tops of hers, your breasts almost touching.

Your hands are resting on her shoulders. You don’t dare touch her anywhere else, painfully aware of the fact that she’s wearing nothing more than a bikini.  
Nicole’s hands have no such reservations. They’re pulling desperately at the fabric covering your waist, dipping under your shirt to rub against the skin of your back and your hips.

She has her hands on your thighs when she surges forward, pushing you backwards until you’re lying on the log.

Then her lips are pressing against the side of your neck, moving across your chest. And you can’t breathe, because one of her hands is under your shirt, and her fingertips are grazing the bottom of your bra. And her other hand is lifting your leg up so she can reach around and slide her fingers up the leg of your shorts.

This is so much better than anything you’ve ever imagined, and you’ve never felt so good in your life. But you’re starting to feel a little overwhelmed, and you’re becoming increasingly conscious of the fact that Nicole is obviously more experienced at this than you are.  
So — after waiting just a little longer, because it really does feel amazing — you place one hand over the top of the hand in your shirt, stilling its progress, and hook the fingers of the other under Nicole’s chin, lifting her head up until she makes eye contact.

She looks a little confused, but she smiles back at you when your lips pull up.  
“You’re so beautiful,” you find yourself whispering into the space between you, cheeks turning pink when you realise what you’ve just said.

Her smile grows. She presses a soft kiss to your lips, then another to the tip of your nose.

“But,” you continue when she’s making eye contact again, “I don’t feel like losing my virginity on a log in the woods today.”

“Oh,” she says, and you can’t really read her tone, or her facially expression. “Not today.” Her mouth spreads into a wide grin. “Tomorrow then?”

You smile. She kisses you again, and runs her finger along the hem of your underwear one last time before pulling her hand out of the leg of your shorts.  
She grabs your hands in each of hers, and uses them to pull you back up to a sitting position.

She presses her lips to yours, and you’re embarrassed by the little moan you release when her tongue instantly pushes into your mouth.  
“We can keep doing this, though, right?” she asks against your mouth.

“Yeah, we can keep doing this,” you tell her as you place your hand over the top of the one she’s slowly sliding up your thigh, holding it in place.

There’s almost 7 weeks left of camp, you figure. You can afford to go slow. For today, at least.


End file.
